


To Die a Hundred Times

by ToBebbanburg



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Drabble, Feels, Fluff though, M/M, Temporary Character Death, as has come to be expected with these two, despite the dying, kinda soft, trust me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBebbanburg/pseuds/ToBebbanburg
Summary: A drabble looking at Nicky and Joe's first 100 deaths. Kinda more heartwarming than all the dying makes it out to be...
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 34
Kudos: 88
Collections: Centennial Celebration Collection





	To Die a Hundred Times

Nicolò counted things. He always had, ever since he was a small child. He’d counted the birds he saw in the sky, the rocks on the ground, the number of ships that came into port as he sat and waited for his father to return home. And as he grew, his affinity for numbers grew too, until he could add and divide and multiply like the best merchant. He never stopped counting, though. He always counted.

He counted the days spent at sea as he travelled to the Holy Land. He counted the number of the enemy soldiers who fell by his sword, and counted the deaths of his brothers in arms. He counted the number of times he prayed for forgiveness, and the number of times his prayers caught in his throat, their meaning lost.

He counted his own deaths too, for what man upon returning from the dead not once, not twice, but three times would not keep a tally of such an occurrence.

It was on his 5th death that he locked eyes with his enemy for the first time and truly _saw_ him. On his 8th death he vowed to never put his blade to that man’s throat again, and after his 11th he was able to put a name to the face. Yusuf.

He suffered his 15th death the day they started travelling together, and his 16th not even a day after that.

His 23rd death was the first time Yusuf had expressed concern over his passing, his brown eyes dark with worry as he sat and watched Nicolò take a shuddering first breath back into life. When Nicolò died for the 27th time, he did so to keep those same brown eyes shining with life. Better he fall than to put Yusuf through the same agony.

The universe conspired to foil his plans. As Nicolò counted his own deaths, so too did he count Yusuf’s. They died and died and died again, 30, 40, 50 deaths each. They seemed fated to remain intertwined, each death of one of them soon answered by the death of the other.

It was almost romantic, Yusuf remarked after their 56th death. Perhaps they shared the same soul.

Yusuf’s words were the first thoughts that ran through Nicolò’s mind as he came back to life for the 60th time, for the 70th. Could he and Yusuf be one soul? One heart, one mind, one _life_? It was not such a bad thing, to be tied to such a man he thought. Yusuf was kind and good humoured, yet strong and principled. He was patient, and quick witted and handsome, and-

Nicolò died his 71st death distracted by the way Yusuf’s eyes flashed in the sunlight, in the way his back muscles rippled as he swung his sword through the air.

Nicolò started counting the days. 68 days since Yusuf suggested perhaps they shared a soul. 23 days since Nicolò decided he would like to share more than just a soul with the other man. 4 days since his admiration of the other man had led to his death.

75 deaths. Nicolò counted the stars at night, and Yusuf named them. Nicolò counted the other travellers they passed, and Yusuf taught him how to greet them in their native tongue. Nicolò counted the dates Yusuf bought in a market, and noticed how Yusuf gave Nicolò more than his fair share. He wanted to say something. He said nothing.

10, 11, 12 more deaths, and each time Nicolò gasped back to life he told himself that this time, in this life he would find the words to tell Yusuf how he felt. As Yusuf died his 91st death, bleeding out in Nicolò’s arms, Nicolò at last found the courage to spill his heart to the other man. Yusuf’s eyes fluttered closed. He had not heard. When Yusuf woke back up 49 seconds later he mentioned nothing of Nicolò’s confession, and Nicolò kept silent.

93 deaths. 95. Yusuf died as he tumbled down the side of a mountain. Nicolò died trying to follow him. They set up camp at the base of the mountain, sheltered by the elements and surrounded by a blanket of silence. Nicolò gathered firewood. Yusuf laid out their blankets over a pile of wilted leaves in a poor imitation of a bed. Nicolò counted his own heartbeats, noting how they quickened every time Yusuf drew near. Yusuf left Nicolò stirring their evening meal by the fire as he went in search of fresh water, and Nicolò promised himself that tonight, tonight he would tell Yusuf all.

Nicolò died for the 97th time as he was dragged away from the camp, the men surrounding him as numerous and as faceless as he and his brothers in arms had once been.

He died trying to escape from them. He died again when he _did_ escape, falling to thirst and hunger as he desperately tried to find his way back to Yusuf. Nicolò’s 100th death came as he finally found his way to Yusuf’s arms, his last breath escaping from his lips as he collapsed onto the other man. His first breath back to life came from Yusuf, the other man's lips gentle against his, a contrast to the firm hold of his arms tight around Nicolò. They shared a fate, a soul, and now they shared a breath. Nicolò’s lungs had never felt lighter.

He counted the tears that spilled from Yusuf’s eyes, counted the number of circles Yusuf’s long fingers absently traced along his arms. Nicolò counted the endless minutes it took for him to find the words he’d wanted to say for almost 100 days.

“I have died a hundred times,” Nicolò said, “and the pain of each one has not eased in the slightest. Yet I find I would rather die a hundred more times, and feel each as keenly as the first, than spend so much as another day away from your side.”

“And you call _me_ a poet.” Yusuf laughed softly, his hands finally stilling against Nicolò’s skin.

“I mean it,” Nicolò said. “I love you.”

“Oh Nicolò,” Yusuf breathed. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> There, that wasn't so bad as all the dying suggested it to be now, was it? Anyways, I'm on tumblr @tobebbanburg if that's your kinda thing.


End file.
